I hate crowds. Yes, I have been seen attending football matches in the distant past.

I may also have been spotted holding my stilettos while gyrating to house music at work dinner galas.

Growing up in a township, I would find myself running along with a crowd of infuriated citizens demanding everything from freedom to water and electricity... However, as much as I hate such settings, crowds are inevitable!

So, I once found myself in the midst of sophisticated and expensively scented congregants.

The kind of company you, the host, spend a fortune to please. You even go as far as catering for their specific dietary requirements, and reserving a few tables to ensure that the most valued are seated together, towards the front, where their view is unhindered. They are your wedding guests, hand picked to bear testimony to the nuptials.

I was a "plus one" and, seemingly, the only one not carrying a Bible. My date had omitted to brief me on the customs of his church.

Other than the bride arriving at 1pm for a 9am start, the exchange of vows went smoothly. We then walked over to the area for the reception dinner. I was pleased that they'd found an inclusive venue.

No driving to a faraway area to take photographs of the bride climbing a tree, then to another for a reception. This was perfect!

We could quickly eat, and start dancing. I knew I was hungry. So hungry that during the four-hour wait for the beautiful bride, I had even suggested to my date that we should go and buy food. He dissuaded me, three times.

We were seated with unfamiliar folks. I was the youngest at this table and first to order a glass of wine.

I couldn't help but notice the stares of disdain from the company at our table.

Before I could boast "I'm an adult! Duh!" the waiter responded with a condescending "Abazalwane ababuphuzi utshwala, sisi. Orange juice?"

I'll be damned! My faith was tested as I silently prayed for someone to turn the juice to wine. But I was to learn that a sober dance floor wasn't to be the worst for the day. So, we are all sober and dry, listening to endless speeches and I am slowly approaching a state of hallucination due to hunger.

I had been to the loo numerous times, just to pray for strength. I would pass the buffet serving area and contemplate digging into the roasted pumpkin with my bare hands.

At long last, a pastor was asked to bless the food with prayer. I let out an "Amen!" in celebration. But I wasn't about to say another prayer. I was physically drained. Then the lady beside me tapped me on the shoulder, calling me to stand up.

"I can't. I'm dizzy. I am wearing very high heels."

The man recited the longest version of "God Bless our Food. Amen" in history. He blessed the food so much that some people were touched. They were clapping hands and cheering him on. He then went on to pray for the poor, for jobs, and for women to marry.

Then a lady broke into song. Yes, between a prayer and the buffet, there was now praise and worship. Brilliant! I kicked my date under the table and reminded him how many times I had asked for Nandos.

Then, there was more prayer. I'm thinking "my blood pressure is low, I could die."

Then, as if to spite my blasphemous hunger pangs, the prayer was now recited in Mandarin and what sounded like Swahili and Tsonga.

It wasn't long before a lady fell violently. I feared I would be next. I held my date's hand tightly and said "Oh my God! She fainted... she is hungry."

I may never know what exactly caused that lady to collapse mid-prayer. But I have since learnt to never go to a wedding on an empty stomach!